


Who I Belong To

by nightrose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-03
Updated: 2009-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Who I Belong To</p>
    </blockquote>





	Who I Belong To

**Author's Note:**

> Who I Belong To

Who I Belong To

Author: nightrose_spn

Genre: Romance/Angst

Rating: R

Warnings: language, incest, angst, very poor decision making, slightly rough sex, thoughts of self-injury

Summary: Dean makes a mistake. And he doesn't blame Sammy for walking out the door this time. All he can do is close his eyes and pray Sam forgives him someday.

Author's Notes: Inspired by herebutnotremembered's videos and a particularly horrible nightmare I had a few weeks ago. I'm not sure where the Toppy!Sam came from, in my brain it's the other way around but he got all possessive. Reviews are beautiful and made of love. So are reviewers. Would you like to be beautiful and made of love? All you have to do is review.

"Sammy." This is the hardest damn thing I've had to do in my whole life. Harder than telling my baby brother I was in love with him is telling him that I broke his heart. "Sammy, I can't hide this from you."

He looks up at me. "What?"

And that innocence in his eyes. I almost want to shrug it off, make it something about Dad, about the hunt, _anything._ Anything but what it is.

And if I never do this again… then that's okay, right? I'll just… I'll just have to be better. Be the man Sam deserves. And if I do that, then I don't have to tell him what I did to him.

No. I did it. And now I have to live with the consequences. "Sam, I… I went home with… with a girl last night. When I told you I was out tracking the werewolf. I was with some random slut. Fucking her into next week."

One question makes it out through his trembling lips. "Why?"

"I don't know. I don't know, Sammy." My legs can barely hold me up. Then it comes out in a rush. "I got drunk and scared and monogamy isn't my thing, I'm not used to it, I don't know. I don't know how I could do this to you. I don't know! I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me, that I could hurt the only person I've ever loved. I don't. But… fuck. I know it doesn't make anything better, but I do love you."

There are tears running down his face. He's a mess, a mass of sobs and shine on his face. I want to hold him, to take him in my arms and make things better. I want to fix him.

I can't. Because this time, there's nothing for me to protect Sammy from. This time, the one who hurt him was me. But I try. I reach out for him, I open my arms and try to pull him close.

With a choked little sound, he pulls away.

I let him go.

"Dean," he whimpers. "God, _Dean._ How could you?"

I don't bother trying to deny the tears in my eyes, the pooling wetness spilling down my cheeks. "I'm so sorry, baby boy. I'm so fucking sorry." Quietly. "It was a mistake. Listen, it was a horrible, horrible mistake. I understand that. I understand if you never want to see my face again. But you have to understand something." I swallow. "Never again. Christ, I'll never do this again. If you ever, ever decide to give me a second chance, I'll be waiting for you."

He doesn't meet my eyes. Ever-so-gently, I tip his chin up.

"Sammy, I mean it. No one else but you. I won't ever do this again. You're the only one. Whether or not I have you."

He throws his arms around my waist and pulls me close. I feel his tears drip onto my hair. I listen to his heart beat.

I watch as he disentangles himself. He lets me kiss him, gently and chastely on the lips. Quietly, with an almost-silent, "Goodbye, Dean," he walks away.

I watch, helpless.

The door closes behind him.

The next day, the next thing I know, I'm so drunk I can't sit up straight. I slouch back in my chair, let my head loll against the top of the hard wooden seat. Stupid cheap motel chairs.

Another swig of whisky. I wince at the burn. This isn't fun drunk, when the world is shiny and pretty. This is the kind of drunk that makes you feel like you're sick, like the flu or something, but you need because your whole fucking life walked out the door away from you and it's your own damn fault.

The phone rings. It echoes in my skull.

I pick it up, look at the screen.

 _Sam._ It says _Sam._

I open it in record time. "Sammy," I whisper.

No answer. Just the almost-silent sound of his breathing.

"Sam? You there?"

I hear a choked little sob and he asks, "Are you… where are you?"

"In a shitty motel, getting wasted." Then I answer the unspoken question. "I'm alone, Sammy. Just so you know."

He sighs out a breath. "I knew you were drunk. I thought…"

"You thought I'd done it again." I shake my head. "I understand. It's not like I deserve your trust. After…"

"Listen to me," he says. "Dean, you made a mistake. I just… can you give me some time? Is that all right?"

"As long as you need. I'll always be waiting."

"Really?"

"Of course."

"It… it might be a while."

I swallow. This hurts. God, it hurts so much. "That's all right, Sammy. That's all right. Take whatever you need."

"Thank you." And there's a beep at the end of the line.

"I love you, Sammy." It's into dead silence, but that doesn't matter. I don't care who does and doesn't hear. I spent years whispering it into the dark. At least it's out in the open now. At least it's on Sam's shoulders, now, the choices that need to be made.

Up to him now.

All I have to do is wait. There's nothing I can do. I can hunt and drink and hate myself.

That I can handle. I've been doing it for years.

Fucking hurts, though. Life is pretty empty without him. Dark and meaningless and it hurts.

Hurts to open my eyes and not see him up already, typing away at his laptop. Hurts not to feel the warmth of his big, long body beside me. Hurts that the bed doesn't have those remnants of his smell that linger the whole day, even when he's away for the night.

Hurts because it's my own damn fault.

I don't know how much more of this I can take.

It's been a week. The longest week of my life. Worse than when Sammy left for college.

Because, as he's said so many times, he _was_ just going to school. He only wanted to get an education.

Because he was the one who messed up. It was his own choice to leave. It wasn't my fault and I could hate him for my pain.

Because back then, no matter my own (sick twisted) thoughts on the matter, he was only my brother. And baby brothers grow up. They go to school and meet nice girls.

But now. Now I've had everything I'd wanted for so long. I had him, I had Sam.

And I fucking threw it all away.

Idly, I consider my favorite gun. The weight is heavy and familiar in my hand. But I've never considered a purpose like this before. Never thought I could even think of lifting it against my own life. I've never wanted to hurt myself before.

Now I just want to take the silver knife and slice long, thin gashes into my skin. I want to take my own revenge against myself. And then I want to show him.

Look, Sammy. See. See what I did. Is this enough? If I do more, will you forgive me? See, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. And I'll do anything to make you come back. Whatever you want.

This isn't me. Drinking, hating, begging. Damn it, I'm a hunter. A grown man.

This is why I never should have let myself fall in love. Because you make one damn mistake and it ruins everything.

Before Sam, when it was just random chicks, what was the worst mistake I could make? Not being up to my normal standards in bed? Embarrassing, sure, but I never see them twice. It doesn't matter.

I pretend I'm not crying.

This matters. Sammy matters. He's always been the only thing in my life that matters.

Phone, again. It's him.

"Dean," he says breathlessly. I smile into the phone. Even if he's not coming home, it's enough. Just to hear his voice. "Hi, Dean."

"Hey, Sammy." I laugh a little. It sounds hoarse and bizarre in my ears.

"Are you okay? You don't sound good."

"You want the truth? I'm pretty fucking miserable. But I'll deal with it… if that's what you need me to do."

"Do you ever think of yourself?"

"My own damn fault," I reply quietly. "I'm the asshole who cheated on you, Sammy. I can deal with the consequences."

"But you still want me, right? I mean… it was a mistake?"

"Yeah. It was the worst mistake a person can make." Before he can start coming up with exceptions, I say quietly, "Sammy, I have no right to ask this—or anything else—from you. But I want you to come home."

"Where's home, De?"

"With me," I say quietly. "Want you with me."

He sighs heavily. "I'm not sure I can do that, Dean."

"I understand. Just… just know… I love you. Okay? I love you."

"I love you too." I can hear his sobs. "I'm sorry."

"Why the hell are you sorry?"

"Because… this isn't fair to you. To call you like this, after everything I'm putting you through."

"No. Don't you dare, Sammy. You can have anything you want from me. I just want you to be… to be happy." Then why'd I do it? A moment of pure idiocy, that's what. "And talking to you does make it better, baby. I'm always happy to hear your voice."

"I'm coming back," he says. "But… but so help me… if you ever fucking do that to me again…"

"I'd rather die."

"All right." His voice is resigned. "I'll see you soon, De."

"Thank you." I'm not ashamed of the tears choking my voice.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

It's maybe two hours before I hear a knock on the door. I open it.

He's so fucking beautiful, biting his lower lip, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He doesn't meet my eyes. I have no such hesitations. I grab him into a deep embrace, pulling him against me, savoring the smell of his hair.

"Sammy."

"God, Dean." He's crying, too. "You don't know how much you hurt me."

"Yeah, I do. I always know when you're hurting, Sam. Always have. All your pain has always been mine." I cut off his protests. "It's no one's fault but mine. But I learned my lesson."

"Shh. Dean, it's okay." He comforts me, a strange reversal. "It's all right. I'm not gonna leave again. I'm here…"

"I'm so damn sorry…" I sob into his chest.

"I forgive you, De. I forgive you."

He leads me into the motel room, pushes me through the open door and onto the bed. I'm not quite sure how it happened, but in just seconds he's on top of me. "You'll never do it again," he growls into my ear.

"No. Never," I gasp.

He bites down, hard, on my earlobe, and my hips jerk up. "You know who you belong to."

"You." Desperately, I claw at his shoulders. "Only you."

"That's right." His hands, firm and sure, slip under my shirt. At the trace of his fingers against my stomach, I gasp.

"Fuck, _Sammy…"_

"We're going to."

"Fuck _me,_ " I whimper.

His eyebrows raise. "Really?"

We usually do it the other way around. I'm not gay. I'm just bisexual-for-Sam. I've only let him penetrate me a few times, but the hot lust is flaring on his face. " _God,_ yes, baby. Want you to take me."

My shirt now off, he twists at an exposed nipple and I buck into his mouth, while he teases lips and teeth across it. "Why?" he hisses against my skin. "Why do you want it?"

"Cause I'm… I'm…" His tongue slides up to my collarbone, licks up my neck. "I'm yours."

"Fuck," he grunts. "Dean."

He lets me rip his shirt open. I press needy little kisses over his chest as his hands wander lower, pulling at the waistband of my pants… I guess I never got dressed this morning, since I'm still in my soft sleeping sweats.

"Lube?" he asks.

"Ungh. Don't know. Don't fuckin' care."

"'m not fucking you dry, Dean." He presses a tender kiss to the skin of my hip.

"In… in my duffle." It's hard to think with his hot breath on my flesh. Everything feels so alive. I feel him pull away, and though it's empty without him, I take the opportunity to get the rest of the way naked.

Sam's giant hands trail across my back, grip my ass, and I lift my hips to let him slip a coated finger inside me. I bite my lip at the still-unfamiliar feeling.

"Okay?" he asks.

"Hurry the fuck up. Want you to _fuck_ me."

He laughs, scissoring a second finger in. I focus on the dimples, the perfect white teeth, of his smile. I love his smile. I love it when he's happy.

I know, in that moment, that it doesn't matter what I've done before. I'll never hurt him again, not in any way. I'll be Sam's until the day I die.

"Please," I moan.

"One more." At my protesting grunt, he bites my shoulder. "Don't want to hurt you, Dean."

"Want… want you to. Want to fucking feel it, Sammy."

"Don't think you have to worry about that." But he forgoes the third finger, coating himself and leaning over me as he pulls my legs up. I hook my ankles around his neck so he can bend down and kiss me, hard, as he thrusts in.

It does hurt. A sharp, sweet burn of the best possible kind. He looks concerned at first, then sees the look of bliss on my face. He bites at my lips and I moan again, wordlessly. Or maybe it's his name.

This is perfect. Because it's Sammy. No one else. There's no one else in the world I'd trust with this. "Fuckin' move."

"What was that, Dean?"

"Please. Move." I flush, realizing I'm begging shamelessly to be fucked. "I… I need you to…"

"It's okay." Another brutal kiss, a hard thrust inside me. I throw my head back as he says, "I'll take care of you."

There are no words after that. Just his teeth, latching onto my collarbone, my neck, his cock deep inside me as he rams in and out with all his power. I try to reach around to touch myself, but he grabs my wrist, won't let me.

His lips drag across my neck to soothe the bites. I'm going to have a hell of a hickey in the morning. Marked. Sammy's.

He pushes against my prostate, and I come, arcing off the bed even more, my vision whiting out as he grunts and releases as well.

With a quiet kiss to my lips, he slips out. I can't move, pinned to the bed, exhausted. "Shit. De, did I hurt you?"

I shake my head and let it fall back against the pillows. "I really, really love you. A lot. And I think we need to do that a _lot_ more often."

That perfect smile breaks across his face. "Okay." Softly, then. "Okay." He trails fingertips across the marks on my neck.


End file.
